


Mocha to Stay

by fyxxen



Series: Inspired by Caffeine [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyxxen/pseuds/fyxxen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia's inability to speak French is embarrassing, considering her skill with other languages and her linguistics background. It brings her into La Lune, though. Which gets her free coffee. So it's not all bad, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mocha to Stay

It happens like clockwork.

11:30am Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Drop-dead gorgeous redhead slinks into La Lune, commandeers a window table, orders a skim mocha to stay (with a dash of cinnamon added, if that’s not a pain?).  
She works, usually on some combination of a beat-up MacBook, at least two books and a sleek smartphone, up until the pre-dinner rush, disappearing amidst dude-bros fresh out of class and suited-up men and women right off work, in need of caffeine.

++++

Linguistics major Lydia Martin was a prodigy. She soaked up languages like a sponge. All of them, except for French. After Spanish and Italian, it should have been easy. The accent, however, evaded her. As did key vocabulary. It was an embarrassment.

So, everyday after her kickboxing class, Lydia holed up in a café far away from Barnard, where she would be unlikely to run into anyone who would recognize her, and tried to burn the difference between _monter_ and _montrer_ into her memory, and figure out how to get her throat to cooperate on glottal stops.

Sometime around Halloween, Lydia realized someone was leaving her food and coffee treats while she worked… and she was eating them. It went against everything she had been taught about living in a big city, but apparently her subconscious thought it was safe. Or she was hungry and her body overrode any complaints from the back of her mind.  
Orange white chocolate scones. Iced coffee. Right before Thanksgiving break, Lydia confronted one of the baristas, tanned young man with a dopey smile.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the free snacks, but I hope you’re not expecting anything out of this,” she said as he handed her the change from her coffee.

He, “Scott” his nametag said, chuckled, making his eyes sparkle, “Duly noted. It’s not me though. Our manager is worried for your brain cells. Working for hours just on caffeine ‘especially after a workout’,” his brow creased, looking stern and definitely quoting someone as he continued, “’is not good for you! So I’m going to do what I damn well please—‘ aaaand I’m going to stop talking now. Okay, good studying!”

Lydia just stares as Scott zipped back to the espresso machine, supposedly cleaning its already shining front. After that, Lydia mostly lets it go— she wasn’t going to complain about free food, and studying was easier with food in her stomach. Plus, confronting Scott got her mystery benefactor to leave notes! As far as she could tell, only two other people worked at La Lune: a curly-haired, quiet tall man with a brilliant smile and a full black and white sleeve on his left arm, and a stunning brunette who rarely stayed fully brunette, constantly changing her hairstyle and its color. Unfortunately, Lydia had no idea which one of the two was the owner.

++++

At times the notes are sweet ([tu peux le faire]())

At times sassy ([ton français est terrible, as-tu déjà entendu quelqu'un le parler?]())

One week there were resource suggestions; about the film festival happening at Lincoln Center, a site to make flashcards on. Those were helpful, at least.

But they were overall absolutely and unbearably obnoxious because the point of finding an out-of-the-way café in Lower Manhattan was to be near no one who could make fun of her for her lack of French abilities.

Curiosity started waking her up early on days when she planned to head into La Lune. It was absurd. 

Luckily, one Sunday afternoon, Lady Luck decided to smile upon Lydia Martin. While she was waiting in line to get the biggest low-fat mocha she could get her hands on, she overheard a tourist with heavily accented English ask if there were by chance anyone working there that spoke French. The curly-haired blond, Isaac, glanced at Lydia with a blush (oh now that’s interesting) and said he would be right back. 

He came back with the gorgeous brunette (currently with an a-line bob with purple fringe), and introduced her as Allison.

As Allison chatted away in French with the tourist, Lydia’s mind whirled. She really hoped Allison had been leaving her notes to flirt with her and it wasn’t just because she was a good person, because wow.

Allison couldn’t have been much older than Lydia, and she already had an incredibly successful and all-loved neighborhood business. She was certainly proficient in at least two languages, and she was gorgeous. The purple fringe in her hair matched the purple flowers that started on her collarbone to curl over her shoulders to reappear at her biceps and trail down her arms.

Lydia wondered what other tattoos she had and if she could find a way to get Allison to let her see them.

She doesn’t realize she’s still staring and calculating and that the tourist has already left until Allison crosses her arms over her chest and raises her eyebrow in a challenging, yet still amused sort of way.

“Can I help you, or were you planning on staring the whole day?”

Lydia refuses to be embarrassed, though she can feel her cheeks burning, “I was just admiring my secret benefactor.”

Allison ducks her head with a surprisingly bashful smile, Lydia should know better than to judge a book by its cover, but it’s not what she was expecting from the coffee house owner.

“You need to fuel your brain too! Plus, your French really does need work.”

“Well, I was hoping that you might also have an ulterior motive for showering me in so much free product.”

Allison’s laugh is bright, and when she tips her head back, her tongue piercing catches the light. Lydia is so gone on this girl. 

“So you’d be okay with me asking you to dinner sometime, or maybe help you with your French?”

Lydia gives her a heated look, “Especially if that second part is a euphemism.”

She nearly regrets her words a moment later when Allison clarifies that she does actually mean the language, but Allison does end up teaching her some dirty words later that night.

**Author's Note:**

> tO be fair I don't speak French. Spanish is a thing I can do, English is a thing I can do. Sometimes Japanese is even a thing I do. A person who I was at the time close to gave me the translations for the notes Allison leaves Lydia, but they could totes be wrong. So if French is a thing you can do, feedback is particularly desired for that.
> 
> edit: mil gracias a [ brochy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brochy/pseuds/brochy), who was super helpful in correcting my french!


End file.
